


Impossible Miracle

by cmartlover



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Clara introspection, F/M, Mentions of Series 8, The Ponds were still living in London in 2014, so what if Clara accidentally saw a younger Doctor and his family?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1265020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmartlover/pseuds/cmartlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara has a difficult time adjusting to the newly regenerated Doctor and finds herself in a bar, looking for something to clear her mind. But when an old face returns unexpectedly, her recent scars are reawakened, and she receives advice from an impossible woman; advice that enables her to understand the Doctor in ways she never has before-- ways that will change his life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impossible Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> This fic stemmed off of an idea I had. We know that the Ponds lived in the 21st century until about 2020, and that the end of TDTWATW took place in 2013, so what would happen if Clara, in 2014, accidentally encountered past versions of the Doctor and his family?

Haggard, the young woman slipped into the restaurant, the dark circles under her eyes illuminated by the soft light of the room.

Her shoulders slumped, her muscles aching, her mind whirring, spinning, her heart pounding, pounding, _pounding_.

She felt light-headed, exhausted, defeated. But more than anything-- tired, so tired.

And so alone.

The events of the last few weeks had rushed in like a maelstrom, wreaking havoc on her cozy little life.

Hands trembling, she stumbled onto a barstool at the counter, glancing through the window at the tiny stars gracing the night sky.

Stars. Oh, how she remembered those beautiful gases burning bright, the universe at her fingertips. And even more beautiful, his face, glowing with that youthful exuberance and infinite wonder—his green eyes sparkling, never to shine again.

That familiar ache in her gut, deep, penetrating, stung, and she lowered her head, closing her eyes.

_But he’s here. He’s alive. It’s not his fault. It’s still him. You know how it works._

And the old man’s face, wrong, _so wrong_ , came to mind, reminding her. Yes, it was still him.

But that didn’t mean Clara Oswald could forget the man he used to be. Because sometimes, _sometimes_ she would hear him, speaking to her, _‘Clara, Clara, my impossible girl,’_ or picture him standing there, so still, bowtie, purple tweed and all, goofy grin lighting up that daft old face.

And it hurt.

“What can a get for you, ma’am?” the bartender asked, ushering her out of her thoughts, and in that moment, her instincts kicked in and she almost shouted.

_Just something strong please. Anything. Brandy. Booze. Hell, even whiskey. I don’t care anymore._

The sudden buzzing in her pocket stopped her, and she popped her phone out, scanning the text, a wave of guilt taking hold.

_Are you alright? You seemed a bit down today at school._

_-Danny_

“Ma’am?”

A pause.

“I’ll have a coke please.” Clara managed, deciding that getting wasted on a Wednesday night before 8:30 wouldn’t be the best idea.

“You sure you don’t want something stronger? We have—”

“I’m good, thanks.” She bit her lip, answering quickly and firmly before she could change her mind.

When the man nodded, she sighed, hand on her chin, watching him fix her drink, silently resolute, convincing herself that the night couldn’t get any worse.

Then the door opened…

And her heart stopped.

* * *

 

“Amelia, are you sure this is the right place?”

_Oh God. I must be losing it. I really, really must be going mad._

Clara’s jaw dropped, and she froze, convinced she must have been hallucinating. Because she couldn’t be hearing that voice; he was gone forever, nothing but a memory; he couldn’t—

Her eyes betrayed her, and she saw him, living, breathing, smiling, as he trotted behind a pretty woman with ginger hair.

But he looked wrong; in that light tweed jacket and blue bowtie, and his eyes—so joyful, so alive, so _whole_.

What had he said?

Amelia?

_Amelia. The first face this face saw._

“Oi! Believe it or not, Raggedy Man, we are at the right place!” the red head quipped, heavy Scottish accent shining through.

_Scottish. Of course…_

A thought flickered in her mind, and she briefly wondered if Amelia and the Doctor had been together at one time.

“ _Sweetie_ , stop doubting her.”

_What?_

That voice—but it couldn’t be—

The sight of those curls dismissed any doubts she had.

_His wife._

“ _Honey_ , I just want to make sure, you know. Because it’s your birthday and—”

_Honey._

He even sounded strange; the endearment directed to his wife slipping of his tongue easily, a lightness to his voice that she’d never heard before.

And now he held River’s hand, tugging her into the chair beside him, as another man took a seat next to Amelia.

Something about the couple’s faces seemed familiar, like they were imprinted in the blurry haze of her memory.

 _They must be his companions._ She decided, remembering the fondness in Amelia’s tone.

A rapid drumbeat-like sound grew steadily, filling her ears, and she wondered where it came from.

_The music?_

Until she realized. It was her heart pounding so loudly she hadn’t even recognized it.

_I really am going mad, aren’t I?_

* * *

 

Watching the Doctor with his wife and his friends felt like something out of a film; it was so surreal, she couldn’t help but wonder if she really was imagining it.

“What drinks can I get you tonight?” the waiter asked, small notepad in hand.

“I’ll have a glass of wine, please.” River grinned, hand still linked with her husband’s.

_‘How did you do that?’_

_‘Disgracefully.’_

“And you?”

“I’ll have that too, and so will my wife.” Pointy-nose (well, what else was she supposed to call him?) added, glancing at the woman beside him.

_So Amelia’s his wife? The Doctor traveled with a married couple?_

“And you, sir?”

“Oh, I’ll have what they’re having.” His face brightened, and he kept his gaze on his wife.

“You most certainly will _not_.” River scolded, raising a brow.

_Uh oh._

“But _Honey!”_

“Sweetie, last time I let you drink alcohol, you spit it all over me.”

“But I won’t—”

“You are _not_ having wine.”

“ _River_ —”

“My husband will have a _water_ , please.” Slapping a hand over the Doctor’s mouth, the curly haired woman smiled sweetly, much to the waiter’s confusion.

Oh yes, River Song was _definitely_ the Doctor’s wife.

* * *

 

Clara didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there or why she hadn’t left already, the heaviness in her chest returning, but if this was her last chance to see this version of her best friend, she wasn’t about to waste it. Besides, she had a soda and a meal to eat (which she’d ordered to avoid drawing attention to herself).

Her head was turned away from them, but she still watched from the corner of her eye, too stunned to move, locked in position.

_I really, really shouldn’t be here. I need to leave; this isn’t right._

Despite her better judgment, Clara couldn’t will herself to leave.

They’d long since ordered their food, the Doctor receiving that odd mix of fish fingers and custard she’d only seen him eat once—

_‘It’s started.’_

A pang of sadness rose in her chest, and she zipped her eyes shut, not wanting to remember. The sad acceptance in his eyes as he prepared for the inevitable.

But this Doctor’s eyes were warm and happy, greener than they’d ever been.

 “So, Rory, Doctor, why don’t we start with the presents?” Amelia’s suggestion was met by two nods from the men at the table.

_Rory?_

_‘Lovely name, Rory. First boy I ever fancied was called Rory.’_

The memory penetrated her train of thought, and she trembled.

When had she said that?

“Here, River.” Pointy nose (sorry, _Rory_ ) handed River a small package. “I—I don’t know what you’ll think of it, but I—I thought you might find it useful.”

Smiling, River carefully unwrapped the gift, gasping when she opened it.

“A first aid kit.” Her grin widened.

“Yeah, well, I just thought it would be something practical. You know, with _him_ as your husband, you have to be prepared—No offense, Doctor.” Rory mumbled, sheepish.

“Oi! _Rory!”_

Before the Doctor could finish, his wife let go of his hand, and stood up, pulling Rory into a quick embrace.

“Thanks, Dad.”

_What?_

Clara thought she’d misheard.

 _Wait—_ dad _? Amy and Rory are River’s parents—but—but how? And that means—they’re his in-laws._

“Melody, this one’s from both of us.”

_Melody?_

Gingerly, River’s hands trailed over the wrapping paper, extricating a rather beautiful dress.

“It’s lovely, Mum, Dad. And I think my husband agrees.” She winked, noting the Doctor’s wide eyes.

“Wait, look closer.” Rory’s soft response surprised his daughter, but she nodded, examining the gown.

“Oh.” Her breath stilled, her fingers smoothing the silky fabric. “You didn’t.”

River’s eyes glistened, as she stared across the table, disbelieving.

“The prayer leaf—Mum, this is—I can’t take this.” Her hand trembled as she held it out to Amelia.

“We want you to have it, Melody. Because—because we’re very proud of the woman you’ve become. And we know you’ll always come home to us. It’s an important part of your past—so you should—you should have it. As a reminder. Of our family.” Amelia’s voice wavered, and Clara bit her lip, feeling suddenly intrusive.

“Thank you.” The three hugged for a long moment, weeping softly.

When they returned to their places, Amelia broke the silence.

“I think somebody feels left out.”

“No—no, it’s—it’s fine. You’re her family and—”

“We’re all a family, idiot. Now why don’t you give your wife your present?”

_‘We’re all a family.’_

Clara’s heart sank, going out to the man who had her best friend’s face.

_The Doctor’s family._

No wonder his eyes could hold such love, such contentment, lacking the eternal brokenness she’d always seen in them.

_This is what he lost. This is why he was so secretive. Why he never talked about them. Because he loved them so much. And it hurt._

Just like it hurt her to watch what happened next.

“River—”he managed, clearing his throat. “I—I have something f-for you. Two things actually. You might think they’re stupid, but—” The Doctor fumbled through his jacket pocket nervously. “Here you go, dear. Sorry about the rubbish wrapping job; I tried to do it myself.”

River chucked quietly, an endearing look on her face as she tore the lopsided paper, to reveal some sort of ancient Egyptian artefact.

“Oh my go—”

“It’s an Ancient Egyptian carving of you. The Woman Who Fell From The Sky. They have legends about you, you know.”

“Where did you find this?” she emphasized each word.

“Well, I went on a bit of a dig.” Scratching the back of his neck, the Doctor avoided her eyes.

“ _You_ went on a dig? As in an archaeological dig?”

“Maybe—” he squeaked.

“Sweetie, you _hate_ archaeology.”

“You don’t.” his voice lowered to a whisper, and he looked away, embarrassed. “You don’t like it?”

“Honey, I _love_ it.” Her hand pressed against his cheek, and he blushed.

“Well, I—ah—I have this for you too. It’s a note—card if you like, written on paper made from the trees of the Gamma Forests.”

Clara’s eye caught the circular designs on the paper.

_Gallifreyan. But humans can’t read that._

Apparently River could, based on the tears forming in her eyes as she read the note.

“River, are you okay? I’m sorry, I—”

“Happy tears, Sweetie.” She choked, leaning towards him, and whispering something in a melodic language Clara didn’t understand, her bottom lip trembling. River’s nose brushed his, and she kissed him, slowly, passionately, humming into his mouth as he stroked her cheek with his thumb, deepening the kiss.

“Happy birthday, Honey.”

Clara’s body shook, the love in his voice so present, so poignant; his green eyes sparkling with tears. Sometimes she used to think he’d looked at her with that affection, but now that she saw the intensity of his gaze, the unwavering love for his wife, she knew she’d been mistaken.

Sure, he’d loved her in his own way, but never like that. Her Doctor’s eyes were sad, distant, empty under that false bravado, and now she finally understood.

Her Doctor was only a shadow of this one; a different man with the same face, embittered by the loss of his family.

_‘We all change. Every one of us through our lives. But that’s okay. As long as we remember the people who we used to be.’_

_Who we used to be._

And in that moment, Clara Oswald empathized with her best friend more than ever before, a weight pressing over her heart, seeping deep into her bones.

Her hand touched her face, and she felt the wetness there.

_‘I don’t know why I’m crying.’_

And suddenly she felt insubstantial, insignificant, and she couldn’t stand it anymore, couldn’t stand this vision of the past, didn’t know what had possessed her to stay here in the first place.

* * *

 

River mentally cursed herself for not having noticed the young woman sooner, too caught up in her family’s conversation.

But when she’d watched her flee towards the back of the restaurant, she glimpsed her face in the dim light and suddenly an awful, sinking feeling set in.

The poor girl had been observing the entire scene, and though River normally disliked eavesdroppers, she couldn’t fault her.

Glancing around at her family, she’d realized no one else had picked up on this fact; her parents’ backs turned and her husband too focused on her to notice anything or anyone else.

“Um…I’m going to use the loo. I’ll be back in a minute.” Her excuse seemed to suffice until the Doctor rose to follow her. “Sweetie, what are you doing?”

“Going with you.”

“Last time I checked, dear, I’m a grown woman. Much as I love your company, I don’t need a chaperone.”

“I just—” he gulped.

“I know, but I’ll be back in a moment. Entertain my parents, will you?” her lips brushed his cheek, and he nodded, understanding.

* * *

 

Clara curled up on a bench in the back, toward the toilets, needing a moment alone. The tears flowed freely, and she groaned, embarrassed by her immature behavior.

First of all, she should’ve never listened to their conversation as long as she had, she should’ve bolted as soon as she saw him, she should’ve—

A gentle hand settled on her back, startling her.

“I’m so sorry, Clara.”

She looked up to meet River Song’s watery, compassionate eyes.

“But _River_ —how do you know—”

“Spoilers.” There was a hint of sadness in that word. “You shouldn’t have watched as long as you did.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Does he—”

“No, he has no idea. Neither do my parents.”

“How can they be—”

“It’s a long story, dear. Very complicated.” She shrugged, shoulders dropping.

“Not my place. Sorry. I really shouldn’t have—but I just couldn’t—I mean, he looks so _happy_.”

“Bless. He’s so young. But he is married to me, thankfully. Though I’m much further along in my time stream than he is. He hasn’t had a family in so long; it’s all still new to him.”

Another tear slipped down Clara’s cheek, but she quickly wiped it away.

“Hey.” River patted her arm, trying to comfort her.

“It’s just—I never realized—until now…”

“I see the way you look at him. You miss him, don’t you?”

“Yes—but, do I—do I really have a right to? You’re his family, I’m just—just a friend. Nothing. God, he used to be so different, so much happier—I never—”

“Oh, honey, don’t you understand? That’s why you’re such a blessing to him.” Her voice trembled as she tried to explain. “You, _Clara Oswald_ , are just what he needed after losing them. A _friend_.”

 _He lost you too._ She thought, but didn’t say aloud, realizing that River wasn’t aware that her death (as Clara now realized) had affected the Doctor most of all.

“It’s just—It’s so hard, River. He’s so different. And I don’t mean your Doctor, I mean—”

“I know. Regeneration certainly changes things.”

“What? You mean you’ve—you’re going to—”

“Spoilers, Clara.” River smirked.

“I take it you say that a lot.”

“Catching on quickly. I can see why he likes you.”

Clara’s face fell.

“He can’t even see me.”

“Which Doctor are we talking about?”

“I don’t know. Both?” she drew a weary breath.

“I know how you feel. I’ve met many versions of my husband, as you have. And sometimes I’ve met Doctors who see right through me, who turn away, like I’m some kind of monster. Something to be feared. It hurts. But then I think back to my Doctor, this one, my husband, and I remember what he’ll become.”

“Or what he used to be.”

“Exactly... Now, I want you to know that however he’s treating you right now, it will get better. He is still the same man, deep down. And regeneration costs him too. He’s still figuring himself out. And trust me, that’s a difficult thing.”

“Sounds like you know from experience.” Clara observed.

“Well, yes. Being part Time Lord—”

“Oh, of course. No wonder—“

“Once again, complicated. But more to the point, how has he—your Doctor—been treating you?”

“I—he’s just…different. Angrier. More distant. Grumpy. Sometimes he just glares at me, like he doesn’t know me at all, like we’ve been through nothing together. I don’t know—even seeing this Doctor—one who doesn’t—doesn’t know me—it’s almost better…better than…” Her resolve crumbled; the stress and anxiety and changes from the past few weeks crashing down at once, combined with the pain of seeing this Doctor today.

 Drawing Clara close to her side, River pushed her hair back, like a mother comforting a small child.

“It gets better. I know it gets better. And I think you’ll find that he’s just as broken and scared as you are.”

Clara’s head perked up at that, and she breathed deeply, trying to calm down.

“You really think so?”

“Yes, I do.” She swallowed, another thought suddenly occurring to her. “And you know what? When you see him again, give him these.” Carefully removing the crystal blue earrings from her ears, River Song folded them in Clara’s small hand.

“What—?”

“They’re a birthday present. From him. He made them for me. Gave them to me this morning. Give them to your Doctor. He’ll remember. He’ll remember this. And he’ll understand.”

“Okay.” Clara nodded, cradling the Doctor’s gift in her hands.

“And tell that Old Scottish Fox that if he ever makes you cry like this again, I will wring his skinny little neck, and he will be very, very sorry.” The ice in River’s tone caught Clara by surprise.

“I can see why he married you.” A grin spread on her face, and her heart lightened a bit.

 “There’s a smile.” River laughed, before hearing the rather frantic voice of her husband.

_“River, dear, are you alright? You’ve been gone a while and—”_

He stumbled over to her, accidently bumping Clara in the process.

“Oh, sorry. Excuse me.”

“Yeah.” Clara trembled as his gaze met hers for just a flicker of a second, and he saw right through her. Just like River had said. And yet she found that a glimpse of those vibrant, green eyes—on that daft old face, was just enough to keep her going.

_Goodbye, Doctor._

“Honey, what happened to those earrings I made for you?” he mumbled, confused.

“Oh, no! They must have fallen out when we were running earlier, I’m sorry, Sweetie.” River turned, winking back at Clara, before placing a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

And Clara pictured him now, grey and skinny and Scottish, remembering her Doctor’s last phone call from Trenzalore.

_‘However scared you are, Clara...he's more scared than anything.’_

_‘Will you help him?’_

Holding back a sob, she smiled, watching as this Doctor (her Doctor— _one day_ ) mumbled something into his wife’s curls, content and happy.

 _Yes, Doctor. Yes, I will help him._ She whispered to her Doctor one last time, as he disappeared with his family, disappeared forever, becoming lost in her memory, a story in her head.

_‘Everything ends, Clara.’_

_‘Except_ you _.’_

* * *

 

Heavy hearted, the impossible girl arrived at her apartment complex, resolute, but somehow happier, as if a burden had been lifted from her chest.

And before she entered the building, she saw it—that old blue box, shining out of the darkness, waiting for her.

Cautious, Clara Oswald leant against the door, before stepping inside.

“Clara, there you are! Listen, I’m—I’m sorry about earlier, I—” the gruff Scottish voice suddenly sounded less threatening, and in those confused, grey eyes, she could see _him_.

“Wh-what’s wrong?”

Silently, she approached him, her young hands stretching out his old, weathered ones, slipping the blue earrings into his palm.

“Clara, _what?”_ the Doctor’s eyes searched for an explanation. He glanced down, examining the tiny objects she’d given him. “But they’re just—”

And she could see the recognition, the disbelief, the gears of that magnificent mind spinning and spinning and spinning.

“Aqua stone. Rarest in the seven galaxies. From the planet Rexxon. I—I made these for my…for my… _wife_ … centuries ago. They were a birthday present. Where did you—how could you—”

“Think about it.” She held his free hand, waiting for him to understand.

“She—she lost them that day—I don’t remember how but—I know—”

“Then why would I have them?”

“You wouldn’t! It doesn’t make sense! How could—unless—what day is it?”

“3rd of February, 2014.” Her voice was calm, steady.

“But that’s…River’s birthday.” His gaze filled with understanding, and he stepped back, leaning against the console. “Clara…where were you just now?”

“Don’t you remember?”

“No…I…I don’t know…”

“You wondered why she was gone for so long, didn’t you?”

“But she was just—”

“Is that what she told you?” Clara whispered.

“It’s… not…possible.”

“Well, funny thing, I just happen to be your impossible girl.”

A long pause.

“You were _there_?”

“How else would I have gotten these?”

“But—River—you—you talked to my wife? How—how did she know—how did she know who you were?”

“Spoilers.” Kissing his cheek, Clara tightened her grip around his hand.

His mouth began to tremble, his eyes filling with unshed tears.

“And Amy and Rory—”

“I saw them.”

“And younger me?”

“You bumped into me.”

“Of course—” he paused, seeing the sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry—if I’d known—oh how awful you must feel—”

“No. I understand now. How happy you were. With your family. What you lost. And why you needed _me_.”

The Doctor processed her words slowly, hand over his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I just—I need a moment—”

“Hey.” Clara’s arms wrapped around him in seconds, as he shook against her, overwhelmed. “I know. You’re going to be okay.”

“Sorry.” He sniffled, drawing back, showing his emotions for the first time since he’d regenerated.

“Oh, and another thing.”

“What?”

“Something your wife said.”

His ears perked up at that, and she grinned.

“She said, and I quote exactly, _‘And tell that Old Scottish Fox that if he ever makes you cry like this again, I will wring his skinny little neck, and he will be very, very sorry.’_ ”

“ _Old. Scottish. Fox??”_ he roared, exasperated, peering down at the blue earrings in his hand and finally making the connection; River’s promise. _“Bloody, mad, impossible, infuriating, beautiful, mad, amazing woman!”_

He laughed, a genuine, happy sound from the bottom of his throat, as the tears of joy rolled down his cheeks.

“Oh, Clara, thank you! _Thank you!”_ He twirled her around, just like he used to, the brightness returning to those grey eyes.

And the Doctor remembered the ring on his finger, grinning like a lunatic.

“Till the next time, dear.” He muttered, gaze fixed on the blue earrings in the palm of his hand; River’s unspoken promise filling him with an impossible hope that he would cling to as long as he could.

* * *

 

 

  _‘The universe is big, it’s vast and complicated, and ridiculous. And sometimes, very rarely, impossible things just happen and we call them_ miracles _._ ’

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it makes some kind of sense. I think it is very possible that River could come back during 12's era, but I don't know.


End file.
